


Drabble Tuesdays, February 2015 edition

by methylviolet10b



Series: Tuesday Drabbles [4]
Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Drabble Collection, Drabble Tuesdays, Other, from funny to angsty and everything inbetween
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-03
Updated: 2015-02-24
Packaged: 2018-03-12 04:04:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3342983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/methylviolet10b/pseuds/methylviolet10b
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In honor of Challenge 27 over on watsons_woes, I'm reviving my quest to supply Tuesdays with drabbles, five  words at a time. Look out, February 2015, because Drabble Tuesdays are back!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Maladroit, Gild, Glass, Appropriate, Ashes

  
**Maladroit**  
For all his Bohemian ways, Holmes is remarkably polished when he wishes. His manners, when he troubles to use them, are unfailingly correct. He is always neat and proper in matters of dress except when afflicted by black moods or unpleasant habits. And Holmes has a natural grace and athleticism that serves him well in drawing-rooms, garden-parties, and sporting activities (all for cases, naturally).

He is, in short, a gentleman born and bred – except in one area. I have seen Holmes stumble, literally and metaphorically, but he is rarely more maladroit when forced to take his place on a dance-floor.

 

**Gild**  
Holmes sprang out of the cab as soon as the run-down building came into sight, leaving me to pay the cabbie and offer what excuses I could before hurrying after him. I nearly lost sight of him as he traversed the narrow stairs and dim, dingy hallways. But I saw when he stopped short, and I heard the splintered door swing open.

Pale sunlight gleamed through the one window to gild the cheek and fair hair of our witness, but no amount of kind light could hide the terrible wound in her chest, or the deathly stillness of her limbs.

 

**Glass**  
“But won’t he suspect?”

Holmes gave me an impatient look. “Of course not, Watson. Although a man of precise habits, as you might have observed from his hat and his pocket-watch, Daniels is careless of his good opinion. His loyalty, once given, is never reconsidered, and Thomson has it. Daniels will follow where Thomson leads, and never suspect duplicity. He will never even dream of asking the obvious questions.”

Holmes’ words soured my own mood. His description could apply to more than just Daniels and Thomson. Looking into his verbal glass, I could not like what I saw reflected there.

 

**Appropriate**  
I looked at the luncheon-tray. Surprise quickly turned to suspicion, and then certainty. “What did you do? It must have been something serious, but not entirely out of bounds.”

“How did you deduce that, Watson?”

“Because while there is beet soup and cold salmon – and you despise both – there is also cheese and bread and apples, all of which you do eat. So, annoyed, but not enraged.”

“Well-reasoned.”

“And?”

“I needed information for a case. Mrs. Hudson informed me that my questions were not entirely…appropriate.”

“Holmes!”

“Really, Watson, how was I to know that _furniture polish_ is a sensitive subject?”

 

**Ashes**  
His hair is more grey than brown now. Age has burned away its color, leaving seams around his eyes and around his mouth, withering away the grace he once had in hands and limbs. Time is a terrible, inexorable fire, eating away at everything until only clinkers and ashes are left.

Yet the eternal thief has not yet dimmed his spirit, his humor – or his stubborn determination. “Whatever you need, Holmes. You know I am with you. I am ready at a moment’s notice.”

Time steals ever on, but it has not yet robbed me of these most priceless treasures.


	2. Omniscient, Omnipresent, Ominous, Omnibus, Omnipotent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An abundance of o-words, oh my!

**Omniscient**  
Holmes often made astounding statements. He enjoyed the reaction his pronouncements caused, although he downplayed them as ‘the result of mere observation.’ In truth, he often seemed nearly omniscient, even when he did explain how he had reached his conclusions. Several Yarders were half-convinced that Holmes had supernatural powers, and more than one of his vanquished foes swore that he was the Devil himself.  
  
But Holmes’ gifts were not the only ones at 221, or even the most confounding. Mrs. Hudson’s uncanny ability to somehow know when Holmes had broken yet another teacup was as unfailing as it was inexplicable.  
  
  
 **Omnipresent**  
It had been a wearying, dispiriting fortnight.  
  
A friend from my Army days had wired me, and I had set out at once. I doubted that I would be of much use, but that was more than I could say of my situation at Baker Street. Holmes was involved in some abstruse matter that seemed to require every square inch of our rooms. The omnipresent clutter had multiplied a thousand-fold, and I could not move without disturbing something and causing Holmes to snarl with irritation.  
  
Better to be a witness to the inevitable than a stumbling-block, or so I believed.  
  
  
 **Ominous**  
It is a rare occurrence, but even I can occasionally miss a crucial detail. Most such failures are the result of distraction; some are the outcome of focusing on a theory rather than the facts; and a few are nothing more than stupidity.  
  
It was the latter that nearly ended the Powell case before my investigation truly started. I had every opportunity to observe Watson as the conversation progressed. I should have noted his sudden stillness, or his ominous silence.  
  
I did not, and so I was as surprised as anyone when Watson’s punch laid the other fellow out flat.  
  
  
 **Omnibus**  
I blew my whistle again as loudly as I could. I heard several shrill in reply, even above the din of the busy street ahead. One sounded close enough to help. I ran on as fast as I could, but I had nothing on our fleeing criminal – or on an enraged Holmes. Arne had struck down Watson, and I was afraid of what Holmes might do.  
  
The thought gave extra energy to my stride. I managed to snag Holmes’ coat and haul him back just as Arne ran out into the street – and under the wheels of an oncoming omnibus.  
  
  
 **Omnipotent**  
As a doctor, a former soldier, and the biographer, companion, and friend to Sherlock Holmes, I have seen more the world than most. I have borne witness to every kind of human behaviour in its best and its worst moments. It is difficult sometimes to reconcile the many evils I have seen with the idea of an omnipotent, benevolent God.  
  
But then I am reminded of two things: that we are beings of free will, allowed to choose good or evil; and that there are men like Sherlock Holmes in the world. Then I find faith comes a little easier.


	3. Celerity, Favourite, Lump, Netsuke, Practical

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A definite grab-bag this week. There is Watson whumpage this week, along with randomness, the wanton destruction of what was probably an amazing outfit, hints of case-fic, and a metric ton of rust on the part of the author. Be very afraid. I know I am.

**Celerity**

I bounded up the stairs, my mind afire with the latest details of the case. I had spent the last day and a half on the riverside as one of my alter egos. A sailor hears much that a Scotland Yard detective never could. Gregson would undoubtedly pretend to disbelieve my information, but he would act all the same.

 

As I entered the sitting-room, I saw Watson startle in his chair, and then shove a paper under several others with unusual celerity. He greeted me with a smile, but too late: my mind had already seized upon this new mystery.

 

 

**Favourite**

When I sent in that first story to the Strand Magazine, I never thought I would become famous as an author. It is a strange profession, and not one I ever trained for.

 

I have occasionally been asked which of my published works is my favourite. I always find a way to deflect the question. No one has ever noticed that – except Holmes, of course. I never told him the answer, either, but I believe he knows it all the same.

 

My favourite published work? An article in the Lancet in 1892; little remarked, long forgotten, by all but myself.

 

 

**Lump**

I gradually became aware of many things: of pain, first and foremost; of cold, a clammy pervasive chill; of moisture, icy lapping around my ankles, sticky and hot on my face; and of a voice, a presence, and an urgency in both that eventually overcame everything else. I opened my eyes, only realizing as I did that they had been closed.

 

“That’s it, Watson. Open your eyes. Can you understand me?” Holmes’ voice was as distorted in my ears as his face was to my sight by the massive lump on his jaw, but I knew him.

 

“Holmes. What happened?”

 

 

**Netsuke**

Holmes’ clients often sent him tokens of gratitude in the days or weeks after the resolution of a matter. Most were small things: notes, usually, sometimes accompanied by a bottle of wine or beer, a basket of apples, or some other practical gift. Occasionally the gifts were princely, reflecting the client’s grandeur as much as their gratefulness. And sometimes they were simply impractical, as was the full ensemble of Japanese male formal wear, no matter how striking Holmes looked in it.

 

Holmes kept the netsuke. The rest, however, was transformed into the most magnificent walking dress Mrs. Hudson ever wore.

 

 

**Predictable**

On the surface, Mr. Holmes seems a parcel of eccentricities, oddities, and random behavior. And that’s true enough, but that’s not all there is. Underneath that surface behavior – and yes, downright rudeness – Mr. Holmes is in his own way as predictable a man as any you’ll ever meet.

 

Yes, he’ll be rude when you consult him, but he’ll come if you need him, regardless of hour or weather. Give him an interesting puzzle and he’ll light up like a lamp every time.

 

Act rudely to Doctor Watson or his landlady, or worse yet, threaten them? The result is very predictable.


	4. Pshaw, Prestidigitation, Portent, Persimmon, Portly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Today's entry is brought to you by the letter P, the number 5, and a metric ton of rust on the part of the author. Be very afraid. I know I am.

**Pshaw**

“What did you just say?”

Holmes’ normally pale cheeks showed a rare tinge of red. “It’s an Americanism. It is hardly surprising that after two years among them, I retain the occasional colonial expression.”

“Expression, yes. Word choices, invariably. But pshaw is…is…it’s just a noise!”

“It is characteristic of the American West.”

“And has no place in the mouth of a British gentleman. After we turn in Von Bork, your first stop in London shall be to a barber, but the second must be to Drury Lane. A shave and a good dose of Shakespeare, and you’ll be Holmes again.”

 

**Prestidigitation**

Outside of music, and a professional interest in stage makeup, Holmes had very little interest in popular entertainment. Public lectures rarely appealed to him. He dismissed séances as public hysteria, and animal shows as little more than cruel barbarity.

So I was surprised when Holmes paused in the middle of one of our walks to watch a street magician perform. I know little of the art of prestidigitation, but the lad made cards and handkerchiefs appear and disappear in the most miraculous fashion.

“Miraculous indeed,” Holmes agreed after we left, and then handed me my watch. “What a marvelous pickpocket!”

 

**Portent**

It was a relatively minor injury. Watson bore it stoically, both at the time and afterwards, while a young doctor – Anstruther’s replacement – cleaned, stitched, and bandaged it. He even made a wry joke about it at his own expense, after the laudanum had started to relax him, and before it pulled him down into exhausted slumber.

I remained wakeful by his side. I am not a fanciful man, but I could not help but see this as something of a portent. We were getting no younger. The world was changing. We would have to change too.

What, then, for us?

 

**Persimmon**

Too late, I sensed someone behind me. I raised my arm, but not quickly enough, and felt a sudden blow. A persimmon stain spread rapidly over my white shirtfront.

“Oh, I say! I am terribly sorry,” a high voice lisped over the noise of the crowd. The gangly dandy who had just jostled me blinked rapidly and fluttered his hands helplessly in front of his impeccably tailored waistcoat. “Come with me and I’ll summon my valet. He’s a wonder with wine-stains.”

“Poisoned?” I asked as soon as we were well away.

“Drugged,” Holmes murmured. “You’d not have appreciated the hangover.”

 

**Portly**

“Pest.”

“Pain.”

“Pervert.”

“Purse-pincher.”

“That’s two words.”

“One with a hyphen, and both to the point.”

“True, but parsimonious requires no punctuation and is equally to the point.”

“Palaver.”

“Pompous.”

“Portly.”

“Poisonous.”

“Pugnacious.”

“Perilous.”

“Petty.”

“Pharisee.”

“Patsy.”

“I’ve not heard that one.”

“It’s an American slang term for fool.”

“Well then, no wonder. Pawn.”

“Pilferer.”

“Perjurer.”

“…pulchritudinous.”

“…Holmes, that’s not a pejorative.”

“Isn’t it? Then it seems you have won, my dear Watson.”

“That might be the first time in the course of our entire association. But it still brings me no closer to a title for the Peterson case.”

 


End file.
